


Serenity

by amaraal



Category: Age of Sail - Fandom, Hornblower (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 21:53:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaraal/pseuds/amaraal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finding solace and peace in unexpected places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serenity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nodbear](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=nodbear).



> Mutiny, Retribution. Second attempt.

A light touch, first, a brush of hands passing one another. Glances under the hot Mediterranean sun, exchanged with a flash of a smile.  
Adoration after examination for lieutenant, unashamed, beaming, proud to be in his presence. Proud to be known by him, proud to know him. Horatio. His name like a fanfare, a vibration in his chest somewhere near his heart. On watch ever alert to see him coming, appearing out of the depths, his dark locks first, broad shoulders, the uniform enhancing his masculinity, agile and calm at the same time.

Duty first. A salute, a nod, dark eyes bright under bow-like brows, lush lips forming a half-smile, so familiar, making him shiver.   
Duty first. Lowering his eyes he waited for him to speak first. ‘Good morning, Archie. Anything worth mentioning?’ No, Sir, breeze steady, course south-south-west, nothing out of the ordinary. ‘Fine. There’s some coffee left.’ Another half-smile, a nod and he was dismissed. 

Winding his way below deck his heart still hammering, he found himself unable to sleep. Closing his eyes he saw him. Holding the glass with long, brown fingers. One eye squeezed shut, the queue of his hair resting on his back, some strains moving in the breeze.   
He was a miracle. An enigma. With a sigh he succumbed to sleep eventually. Horatio’s red lips forming a name. ‘Archie.’ He smiled. 

 

*** 

Head thrown back, fingers entwined in long dark strands, he moaned. Exposing his throat he drowned in an overwhelming flood of emotions. He was here, with him, finally.   
“’ratio…” He whispered, grasping, searching for a halt, arching into his touch, touching as much as he could reach of him.   
The cable tier in the orlop, a sailcloth making sure not to come out stained with tar all over, the smell of oakum and oil, but also of salt and seawater. And him. So much of him. Shaving soap and the faint scent of rum they’ve had an hour or so ago. Sweat, vanilla and almond. The wetness of his lips on his own, his tongue searching his, duelling, licking his lips, his chin, throat, collarbone. He bit him, tenderly, almost apologizing, his hands swift and hot on his exposed flesh. He tried not to cry, not to push him away, for the pain was sweet torture, and he wanted to last, wanted as much of him as possible. Deeper and sweeter and there, and oh, there too.   
“Honeybee…” A chuckle, and a quick wipe of a tongue over his nose.   
“Archie… kiss me.” He did, he never asked for it. Asked for nothing. He knew him, deep from within. He knew Horatio needed it, him, longed for it.   
The gentle swaying of the ship, tied to the dock, a harbour, finally. They thought them gone with the others. Roaming the Inns and brothels of the town. But they weren’t.   
They stayed underneath the waterline, deep in the ship’s belly, in the dim light, in the heat still lingering there. 

When he comes he sobs, his tears wetting his face, Archie’s skin, he claws at him, thrusts, writhes and Archie feels like the mast of a ship, tall and strong, providing shelter in a storm, catching the wind in his arms, holding that small human being, cradling it, holding it, loving it.   
A calm enfolds around you. Nothing can touch you know. Not even death. The sea, even, coloured a dark emerald green, reflects your mood perfectly. You feel loved, sincere, invincible. Serenity. 

He is there, here, with him. Both hands in his hair he soothes him, hums a melody, traces his ear with a finger, or two. He would love to fall asleep that way, with his head on his chest, but he cannot. Duty first. One last, lingering kiss, the rustling of belts and swords adjusted, fabric covering smooth skin again, a wry smile, a thumb brushing his hair out of his eyes.   
No word is spoken, no word is needed. He leaves first, and in the dim light he sits and wonders – how long will it last? What if they caught you? But you smile despite the pain you feel, because for him you endure everything. Even death.

 

***


End file.
